


A FAST CRASH COURSE IN POSTMODERN LIT

by Tozette



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Cloud Strife is Too Cute For His Own Good, Genesis does what he wants, Loveless - Freeform, M/M, misogynistic minor characters, stupid soldier hazing bullshit, tags subject to change because i have no idea what i'm writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tozette/pseuds/Tozette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cloud's squad mates are dicks and Commander Rhapsodos has illegible handwriting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Genesis was hiding. He wouldn’t have put it that way aloud, but he was hiding and he knew it. LOVELESS Avenue at midday wasn’t the hot spot it became after dark: the neon signs and bright lights were unlit and most of the people in the street were passing through. Instead of small knots of elegant theatre goers stretching their legs during intermission, there were unhappy theatre staff with grating smiles and starched outfits trying to entice people to accept their particular house’s schedule or handing out information.

He preferred it at night, but by the time night fell all the relevant executives would have gone home and Genesis would not have been in hiding. It was lucky enough that he was being shipped out to Wutai next week; if he could put them off for that long the recruitment policy changes would all be Sephiroth’s problem and Genesis’s future paperwork would be cut in half.

That was more than enough reason to be dressed in civvies, leaning against a theatre wall in an alcove just off the street and purposefully ignoring everything except his book. It was a lovely seventh edition of LOVELESS (the first ed didn’t leave his apartment) done in buttery soft cream leather. It smelled of vanillin and old pages, and it had captured his attention more or less completely.

…except, unfortunately, he was nearly finished this read-through. He had a policy of not re-reading too soon following a complete read. It was best to let the experience of the text marinate for a while before diving back in.

He lingered over the final pages, adrift in the endless possibilities of the missing ending, and–

There was a clatter. “Ow! Higgs, watch your damn elbows. Ugh, of course. Why are they ALWAYS playing LOVELESS?”

“It’s LOVELESS Avenue, moron,” snorted another voice.

The first one made a derisive sound. “Sure, but it’s not like it’s gonna be any different every time they put it on? Why is it _always_ playing? It’s not even good.”

Genesis stiffened. How incredibly rude.

“‘Cause it’s full of the kind of flowery bullshit that gets girls to take their pants off,” said a third cynically.

Genesis rolled his eyes, but he also leaned further to see the chatty swine who’d ventured so close to his hiding place. He wasn’t facing them, but their reflection was clear enough in the dimmed window of a closed cinema.

Ah, cadets – four of them, three with big shoulders and quads like tree trunks, and one who was either very young or very unfortunate. It was hard to say with his face hidden behind the helmet. They were clearly on the way back from a patrol or something, because they were filthy and tired but not kitted out for a longer mission. The smallest one seemed intent upon getting where he was going without talking to any of the others.  

Genesis didn’t _really_ contemplate ruining their careers for very long. He was actually pretty satisfied with knowing that he could. And he could. Oh, yes. His lips curved without permission.

“Hi,” chirped one of the theatre staff on the street. In the reflection he could see that she had a little bow tie and a waistcoat, very chic, very cute. “This month we’re running a promotion for a special matinee –”

“If it’s for that LOVELESS garbage, I’m not interested,” grunted one of the cadets, which, again: _rude_.

“Oh,” said the woman, taken aback. “Well, how about your friends? It’s a free performance, so–”

Somebody snorted, and Genesis saw one of the big bodies shove past her. She stumbled sideways on her heels, and another cadet caught her.

“Sorry,” he said, and patted her arm, setting her to rights.  

Her eyes narrowed, determined, upon the silent smaller one. “What about you? Ever seen LOVELESS? It’s a great performance!”

There was a pause. “…No,” said the cadet cautiously, and for a second the lady’s smile warmed up. “Great! Here you go, one matinee ticket, on the house. Tell your friends, won’t you!”

“Yeah, he’ll let all his friends know,” said one of the other cadets. It was done with the air of an in-joke, but the theatre employee just smiled tightly and moved on.

A free ticket to a performance wasn’t anything to scoff at, although there were plenty of snobs out there who delighted in deriding the 'matinee crowd’ – the performances were cheaper and supposedly attracted a less discerning audience. Genesis was occasionally one of those snobs, actually, although his impending trip to Wutai meant he’d be stuck attending an afternoon session himself in this cycle.

Already weary of the cadets’ stupid, loud behaviour, he tried bringing his attention back to the final pages of his book – the appendices never did hold his attention like the story proper. That was when the smallest of the cadets actually spoke.

“It’s during downtime,” he murmured in some surprise.

Genesis glanced their way again – he caught a flash in the mirror of a motorcycle where the smallest cadet was contemplating his ticket. “It might be fun to go to the theatre.”

One of the others snorted. “Melodramatic shit aimed at thirteen year old girls,” he said, and Genesis decided this one had never read it, and that if he’d seen a production it had been a terrible one. Also that he was a genuinely terrible person. “Keep it, it’ll be right up your alley.”

The cadet kept perusing his ticket as though nothing had even been said.

“Um, no,” said one of the others, edging closer. “No he can’t. Please, he already makes the rest of us look like pussies and I’m sick of that dick from Delta squad asking if he’s pregnant yet. Again.”

“Little too interested, if you ask me.” Somebody else guffawed, but the ticket was tugged away from the cadet’s hands and thrown into a nearby public bin. “Seriously. Theatre. LOVELESS. Are you actually trying to grow a vagina?”

“I–”

“Wow, no, the correct answer is 'no’.” And the cadet just fell silent. “Hey, isn’t that the bar we’re meant to be meeting Simmons at anyway? Wanna drop our gear off later instead?”

This was generally agreed upon as the easiest course of action and the trio headed for a popular watering hole - a bit too early, in Genesis’s opinion.

Genesis made a face at his book. He’d not caught their names, but he’d remember their faces. If they were cadets in the program, he’d run into them eventually… And probably as an instructor. Hell, maybe he’d make them recite _actually_ bad poetry.

He was almost finished the third appendix when he saw the shape of that short cadet darting past a glossy Hardy Daytona. Huh.

His visor was up now, even if his helmet was still on, and Genesis realised that he was _young_. Too young to be in the public bar with his unit, anyway, although he had to be at least sixteen to enlist… in Midgar, anyway. He watched critically as the cadet came back and clattered a little as he rummaged through the top layer of garbage in the bin. “Ew,” he said, so quietly that Genesis almost didn’t catch it.

He watched the cadet pull out the ticket, sniff it, make a grossed out face and then tuck it away anyway.

Then the cadet left.

Hmm. Genesis snapped his own beautiful book shut and emerged from his alcove. He watched the cadet leave, eyes narrowed.

* * *

To say Genesis had forgotten about the cadet was to imply that he’d intended to remember. He had not. He just wasn’t that interested, and did not think about it at all until circumstances required it.

Until then…

Even with Genesis scheduling himself so as to be as preternaturally difficult to contact as possible, people still managed to give him paperwork. Maybe they couldn’t pin him down and enforce his attendance at boring meetings, but they certainly left him reams and reams of highly classified documents to read over and approve. With both Sephiroth and Angeal on the front, he was also Lazard’s first resort for estimates, field-relevant questions and supply issues.

Just because Genesis was dead clever and perfectly competent to do the work did not mean he wanted to. It certainly didn’t ensure he’d get to it in a timely manner, especially if he couldn’t see where it had any real impact on the men under his command. But his tendency toward procrastination meant that there was… rather a lot of work piling up.  

Unfortunately, the more he avoided it, the more daunting it seemed. And Lazard’s patience was wearing thin - usually not much of an issue, but he _did_ control the assignments.

The current workload was, in short, kicking his butt.

Luckily there was nobody who’d try to interrupt Genesis when he’d cleared his afternoon weeks ago to view the current performance of LOVELESS. Nobody would dare. Well, no: Genesis was pretty sure that in an actual life or death emergency, the Turks would throw the fire alarm in the theatre and force the evacuation. They were sneaky like that. But otherwise, even Angeal wasn’t likely to put himself through the drama of interrupting. So this was at least one thing he could indulge in guilt-free.

He shucked his uniform and his iconic red coat and dug around in his closet until he came back up with civilian clothes. He shoved a pair of sunglasses on his face to hide the bright edge to his eyes - it would be very obvious outdoors otherwise - and headed out with a bounce in his step. A new LOVELESS performance! This one was supposedly interrogating the narrative structure of the text and he couldn’t wait.

The theatre itself wasn’t huge or especially fancy, unlike the one across town at which he had a reserved box. It was still crowded enough to make him glad he’d asked the staff to set aside his copy of the re-released text so he didn’t have to stand in line for it.

It was a slightly rowdier crowd, possibly because it was a more accessible kind of place: the appointments were comfortable but many times mended where a grander establishment might have had them replaced. The worn upholstery and old carpet didn’t bother Genesis much, and he fit comfortably into the stalls with the rest of the matinee crowd.

It was one occasion upon which he was happy not to stand out. The attention was supposed to be on the performance after all. Even when he took off his shades, the glow of his eyes was easily missed in the reflection of the bright lights ahead.

The current production was a strange, postmodern one with truly uncommon structural elements. It was a fascinating reinterpretation of the play’s themes, blurring the line between the story itself and the actual mechanics of performance.

Genesis thought it was a little heavy handed in places, but he had to allow that there were probably people in the audience who were only passingly familiar with the text; subtlety and delicacy has clearly been sacrificed to appeal to a wider audience. Still, by the penultimate act he was nodding along blissfully, brain alight with new ideas – in the absence of assumptions about the author’s intentions, could it instead be interpreted as a complete, finished work? And what would that mean for the –

“Goddamn waste of my day off.” In the seat next to him, a man stood up.

To leave.

In the middle of the performance.

Genesis’s hand snapped out before he’d even thought about it. He yanked his neighbour back into his seat with enough force that the arm rest between them snapped.

The sound of splintering wood was loud enough to make other viewers glance their way.

…Whoops.

One person - on the other side of the pig who was trying to leave early - jumped and stared at them with huge, startled eyes. He looked oddly familiar, but Genesis couldn’t place him. Hmm. He’d think about it later.

Mindful of making any more of a scene, Genesis slapped one hand over the stranger’s mouth. He leaned in close enough that the man could easily see the bright glow of mako in Genesis’s eyes.

“The show isn’t finished yet,” he whispered, low and soft. He didn’t want to needlessly disturb the actors, after all.

The man swallowed. The bob of his Adam’s apple was especially obvious in the high contrast between the stage lights and the shadowed stalls.

With a friendly smile and a warning squeeze of his shoulder, Genesis let him go and returned his own attention to the performance.

The man next to him didn’t try to leave before the end again. He hurried out as soon as the lights came back up, shooting nervous glances at Genesis all the way, but that was all right.

An enormous pile of fluffy blond hair caught his attention then. Now that the seat between them was empty, Genesis had a clear view of the inhabitant of the chair one over from where he was seated.

He frowned. He’d seen the face somewhere, but couldn’t place it at all – and the hair threw him for a loop. He was pretty sure he’d remember hair like that. It was absurdly fluffy, sticking up in all directions, and bright yellow. It looked more like plumage than hair, really.

He wasn’t always great with names, but Genesis never forgot a face.

He watched, puzzled, until the kid - still staring at the program in his hands while people filed slowly out of the rows of seats - reached up and brushed the hair away from his forehead for a second. An image occurred to him – a cadet’s helmet.

Ah. That was one of the cadets who’d been so adamantly rude about LOVELESS. He’d committed that whole squad to memory just so he could properly terrorise them should they make SOLDIER. This would be the cadet who he’d seen digging through the rubbish for his ticket, then.

…he was even smaller out of uniform. He had to be at least sixteen to enlist, but where some sixteen year olds were lanky and raw boned, or already huge and putting on a heap of muscle, this one was… short. Short and delicate looking, underfed. His face was pretty rather than handsome, angular but androgynous. And his hair was so _fluffy_.

It was hard to imagine he was a cadet, actually. Genesis contemplated somebody like that in the SOLDIER program and gave up when it gave him a headache. He’d almost certainly fail the physicals anyway – drop out and land in the infantry, which…

Genesis couldn’t see him doing well there, either.

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed. What was this kid even doing here? He was cute, and deceptively sweet-looking given he was training to be a killer. Genesis would have loved to focus on how adorable he was, but the fact was that a person like this was begging to get killed - if not in the field then by the sheer stupid brutality of the other savages in the program. This cadet should have been off taking care of fluffy baby chocobos or something.

…Genesis certainly wasn’t dragging his sorry hide to Wutai and back!

He wouldn’t have to unless he passed the exams, he reminded himself, forcing the tension out. Cadets were mostly a bunch of gross little piglets and had nothing to do with Genesis until they’d had about ninety percent of the enthusiasm beaten out of them, which was the way he liked it.

…this one was _awfully_ cute, though. And, well, all that was waiting for Genesis back at ShinRa was more paperwork.

“Not what you expected?” he wondered, pasting on a smile. It wouldn’t kill Genesis to be friendly – and it was important to do his duty by the arts and encourage LOVELESS fans.

The cadet flinched, looking up at him with huge blue eyes. “Sorry?”

…very cute, in a small and fluffy sort of way. The infantry was going to eat him right up when he failed the SOLDIER exam. He’d die on mission – if he didn’t get the shit beaten out of him in the showers.

“You looked confused,” Genesis said from behind his warm, winning smile.

“Oh.” A pause. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. It was… interesting, though.”

Interesting was a diplomatic sort of word. It didn’t mean anything except that the performance had held his attention - and that he’d noticed Genesis’s own enthusiasm and didn’t want to offend him. Well. He wasn’t getting free that easily. Genesis casually swept him up on their way out of the row of seats.

“Interesting how?” he pressed, drawing him easily through the throng of meandering theatre attendees with a grip on his elbow. He’d picked up his merchandise before the show and wasn’t about to linger.

“I got kind of lost in the second part,” the cadet admitted. “I thought it would be a more, er, faithful production.”

Well, postmodernism wasn’t for everyone. Angeal, for example, had absolutely no time for it.

“I… I mean, did it go like that in the book?”

Genesis paused mid-thought. “You haven’t read it?”

“Oh, I… well, I tried,” he said, looking anywhere but at Genesis. “I got through the first bit, but…”

LOVELESS was a text that polarised its readers. People loved it, people hated it, but nobody of any substance felt _nothing_ about it. Genesis braced himself to discover that his cute, breakable little cadet was dull and stupid. What a shame. What a waste of a face like that.

“–But there was an accident, and now I owe the library fifty gil.”

Genesis blinked. That was… not what he’d expected.

He eyed the painstakingly mended hems and polished boots of the cadet’s clothes. Those were ShinRa issue boots, too, he thought. Hmm. “That sounds… unfortunate.” And by unfortunate, he meant 'like bullshit’. There, see? Genesis knew he’d been right: too small and cute by half, easily pushed around. He sniffed.

“I didn’t even get to finish it,” Cadet added, and his brows furrowed briefly. “I mean –” he looked up. “ I know it’s not actually _finished_ , but–”

Genesis held up his hand. “I understand,” he said gently.

“Yeah. Well. The library didn’t,” said Cadet, who probably had an actual name – Genesis was quite comfortable with the present closeness of their relationship, though, and did not require it. “I’m not even allowed back inside until they get the money for the fine.”

Was fifty gil really so much for him? It was pocket change for Genesis, but… Actually, that would explain the state of the cadet’s uniform. He eyed him again.

“Here,” he said, pulling out his most recent purchase. He didn’t hesitate. Maybe the cadet was worm food, but at least he could read LOVELESS before all of his dreams and whatnot got crushed. Genesis was a generous man. “I get a copy every time the stage play is rereleased,” he admitted. “Finish it.”

Cadet stared at him, then at the book. Then… back at him.

“I really couldn’t. I–what if something happens to it? No, I.” He swallowed and shook his head.

“Frightened of …accidents?” Genesis asked, archly raising his eyebrows.

Cadet stilled. For a few long seconds his eyes were shadowed by his absurd hair. When he looked up he was biting his bottom lip.

It was adorable. Genesis was going to die of cute overload. There was a soft coo caught in his chest, and Genesis wasn’t even very susceptible to cuteness as a rule – which meant that they were all lucky Angeal hadn’t seen that face.

How did this kid even get into the military? He should have been advertising puppies and rainbows or something.

“Unless you don’t want to know who wins the duel…” he said leadingly.

Cadet folded. “I’ll give it back to you,” he promised.

Genesis smiled and waved it away with a dramatic wave of his hand.

It wouldn’t matter that much if he didn’t get this one back. There was a new edition with every new run, so he had sixteen-odd editions of an unfinished text. He was still missing a second edition, too, but print runs could be unreliable. “Of course,” he said breezily.

A pause. Cadet’s fingers brushed the cover as though he was afraid to ruin it with his touch. “You’re sure–?”

“I am. Here, I’ll write my name on it so you’ll have to bring it back to me,” he said cheerfully, then whipped out a pen to scrawl his signature on the inside cover. “There.”

The cadet squinted at it. “Genevieve Ra…pidillor?”

Genesis coughed.

He stifled his mean laugh and looked over Cadet’s shoulder. Huh. His signature was kind of illegible, but he was pretty used to people knowing his name. Still, there was a reason he came out in shades and jeans. He hadn’t really wanted to be recognised - and here he wasn’t.

“My parents were weird,” he said blithely. Inwardly, he resigned himself to ordering a new book from this run. There was no way anybody would find Genesis when they were asking around for _‘Genevieve Rapidillor’_. That sounded like some kind of hideous slum monster.  

Cadet seemed to take this completely in stride. “Um,” he said, peering up at Genesis from beneath his eyelashes and his stupid fluffy adorable hair. “I’m Cloud.”

Genesis’s eyebrows rose. Suddenly _Genevieve_  didn’t seem too bad.

But… Cloud. Where had he heard that name before, somewhere in passing? He hoped the cadet wasn’t – well, no, actually, Genesis didn’t care if Cloud was a troublemaker, but he hoped he wasn’t dull enough to be caught. _Boring_.

He’d definitely heard him mentioned somewhere, though…

“Nice to meet you, Cloud. If there’s an… accident, with that one, don’t worry too much. Just let me know so I can get a replacement.” Another lie.

“I –”

Nope. Genesis waved elegantly and left before the cadet could protest. It didn’t have quite the same dramatic flare without his coat and boots, but this small Cloud person seemed to have passable taste; Genesis trusted he’d be suitably awed.

* * *

The library book had not been an accident. Cloud wasn't sure, however, how else to explain it and not end up actually melting from sheer humiliation.

Especially not to kind, handsome strangers.

What had actually happened was that somebody had stolen the book from Cloud's trunk and left it in the sanitation bins of the women's toilets. The janitorial staff had reported it to the library and the library had imposed the ban - and the fine.

Somehow, everybody seemed to know that Cloud had been banned from the library for getting a book covered with menstrual blood. Context was generally provided by rumour, and the worse it sounded, the more popular it was.

Cloud had not been near a women's restroom since he'd been old enough to go on his own - even if he'd been remotely interested in whatever it was that young women did in groups when they went to the toilet, everybody where he was from knew that Tifa Lockhart could punch a man through a wall.

Unfortunately, this information had not been shared with the gossip mill if the looks he was getting were anything to judge by. Even one of his drill sergeants managed to fit in a crack about somebody 'escorting' Cloud to the facilities in case he 'got lost' again.

So, no. Cloud would not have characterised the fate of the library's copy of LOVELESS as an accident, but the truth was kind of self-pitying and gross.

Nevertheless, he'd been surprised and then genuinely touched when an attractive stranger had just up and _**given**_ him a book. On the street outside the theatre! For no reason.

Of course Cloud had sworn to give it back, and he had every intention of honouring that promise. If something equally unfortunate happened to this new copy, he'd replace it well before he paid the library's fine - this was some nice man's personal book, not a public copy.

It was just a bit unfortunate that LOVELESS really was a very good story. It had so much to offer: sweeping drama, thwarted ambition, a tragic love, the unravelling of a friendship under pressure, clashing deities and vile betrayals. It held Cloud's attention a little _too_ well, and that was ultimately why he didn't realise when he was noticed with it until it was yanked unceremoniously from his hands.

"Hey!"

"Isn't this the same shit you were reading last time?" A pause. "'Though the morrow is barren of promises nothing shall forestall my return'? Hey, Sledge! Look."

Higgs tossed the book across their cramped quarters. It was snatched from the air, but not by a cadet.

The reason they were all trapped in the one room reasserted itself: because they were due for inspection. None of them had noticed their CO enter, although they all should have.

"What's this?"

"Nothing, sir. Just rescuing another book from Strife," Higgs said, and the Sergeant Antilles gave him an indulgent glance.

"No... unfortunate incidents this time, Strife," he murmured, arching one eyebrow.

"It's not even a library book," he muttered.

"Really," murmured Antilles silkily, and flipped thoughtfully through it. "And which unfortunate soul did you get it..." he got to the front inside cover and his face drained of colour. "Strife!" he barked, causing Cloud to twitch violently. "With me!"

He was grabbed roughly by the collar and hauled away. Higgs and Sledge were a bit wide-eyed to see their inspection ignored completely, but it neither were as shocked as Cloud.

"Sir?"

Antilles ignored him, although it wasn't entirely certain that the man ever heard him. They made it into an elevator with a number of people in dark, drab suits, and Antilles jammed the button for the SOLDIER floor. His skin looked damp but his complexion was greying.

" _Sir_?" Cloud repeated, only for Antilles to turn on him and shove him two steps backwards into the wall of the lift.

"I don't know what the hell you were thinking, Strife, but this is so far above my pay grade. There'll be hell to pay when the commander gets ahold of you, and frankly I'll be astonished if you survive until your dishonourable discharge!"

Most of the men and women in the lift were backing awkwardly away from the confrontation, pretending not to pay attention. A couple of them were watching avidly, however.

"Dishonourable discharge?" Cloud blanched. "What? I - sir. _What_ commander?"

Antilles's face contorted. "As if you don't _know_. I cannot believe any one of you would have been so foolhardy-"

There was a slowing whine, and a soft _ding_ , and then the doors opened and most of the people inside poured out - even some who didn't actually need to exit to the thirty-fourth floor, Cloud thought.

"I believe he does not, in fact, know," murmured one of the suited men remaining, just as the doors slid shut again.

He wasn't tall, but he was wiry, with a face more bland than friendly. There was a mark over his forehead that Cloud was unfamiliar with. He seemed completely composed despite the tense atmosphere, and so did his companion - a tall, impassive fellow with tinted glasses on even though they were indoors.

Antilles looked over his shoulder. "Turk," he said flatly, from between his teeth. "This isn't really your business, is it?"

Cloud swallowed. Turks. He saw them rarely, usually when they had to come past on some kind of investigation. Nobody really knew a lot about them - except, presumably, for other Turks - just that they knew everything that went on at ShinRa and that they were very, very dangerous.

The Turk fixed them both with a still, considering look. It lingered rather longer on Antilles than on Cloud, for which he was grateful. "You're frightening the office staff," he said finally. "Matters of military discipline are not to be discussed in public lifts."

Cloud could see the muscle in Antilles's jaw twitch when he clenched his teeth. "Of course," he ground out.

Cloud just mouthed 'military discipline' to himself in mounting confusion. Was this all because he had a book? Seriously?

Was there something particularly awful about this edition of LOVELESS? Did they think he'd, what - _stolen_ it? Even if he had done, it made no sense to take him to see a commander about it. Cadets got paid a pittance, and plenty of small luxuries went 'missing' around them - a book ought to have been the least of their concerns.

So was this about Cloud personally? Or...

The Turk looked, if anything, a bit amused by Cloud's evident confusion and distress. "Forty-nine," he pointed out when the doors slid open again.

Antilles shot him a poisonous look and hauled Cloud out with a heavy hand on the back of his neck. There was a short corridor, a second lift, and then they stepped out into somebody's office directly. There was a soft hush from the air conditioner, the sound of the lift brushing against the plush carpet of the office as it closed, and then just their breathing and footsteps and, deeper in, the rattle of a keyboard.

Antilles didn't hesitate, but he did knock. When a voice - light, educated, polished-sounding but with a cynical edge in it - invited him in, he strode right across the threshold and took Cloud with him.

"Director," he said, springing to attention. "This is cadet Cloud Strife - he has something that belongs to one of your men."

He did?

Was this... this 'Genevieve Rapidillor' a SOLDIER? Was this what all the fuss was about?

The Director - who Cloud belatedly realised was the Director of _SOLDIER_ , as in, of _the whole SOLDIER program -_ was a pale man, sharp featured, with a fall of golden hair that curled gently around his collar. His plaque said 'Lazard Deusericus', which was a name Cloud had only ever seen on company bulletins.

Lazard eyed Cloud for a moment. Then he looked at the book in Antilles's hand.

"Ah," he said. His expression said something else entirely, which was more along the lines of _you cannot pay me enough to deal with this, ever_.

Cloud continued to be completely, utterly baffled. He'd been grateful to Rapidillor for allowing him to take the book, because it was honestly a pretty excellent book, flowery language aside. But the fact remained that it was a _book_.

It wasn't as if it was somebody's firstborn. Hell, given the way this company operated, he was ninety eight per cent certain that somebody's firstborn had been discarded with less concern than was currently being raised over this book.

"Down the hall, third office on the right. He's due back today, so-"

"Thank you, sir," said Antilles, and Cloud found himself once more hustled away by the scruff of his neck.

Behind him, he heard Lazard murmur something to himself, but what it was he couldn't say.

Antilles looked increasingly nervous as they headed toward the office indicated. There was a reception area, but it was empty at this time of day, and beyond it so were most of the actual offices. Most doors had no name plates, but there was a moment when Cloud was marched toward a door that had 'SEPHIROTH' printed on its brass plate.

For a second he had the pants-wettingly horrifying thought that somebody had given him a book stolen from _Sephiroth._ They wouldn't need to discharge him, dishonourably or not - they just had to wait for somebody to tell the Silver Elite. Then they'd _eat him_.

But Antilles' grip on Cloud's neck strengthened until he was sure it was going to bruise, and they didn't slow. They walked past without even pausing, despite the maddening, soft sound of a keyboard rattling inside that office.

The last office in this out-of-the-way corridor was closed and locked up, and looked as though it had been for some time - there was dust settling on the handle. Where a name plate might once have been was somebody's handwritten sign that read: 'IF YOU HAVE BEEN CALLED TO THIS OFFICE FOR DISCIPLINARY REASONS YOU SHOULD PROBABLY JUST RESIGN NOW'. Below this cheerful message was a stick figure with crazy eyes holding what looked like a fireball bigger than its head.

" _Um_ ," said Cloud.

"Quiet," said Antilles.

Cloud opened his mouth to say 'yessir' then realised what the order had been and shut his mouth again.

Antilles made a show of knocking on the door, but nobody answered one way or the other and he shoved it open in a swirl of dust motes that glittered under the bright hallway light. There was a smell in the air of a place that had been closed up for too long, of dust and metal and electronics.

"You'll wait here until he gets back," Antilles said, glowering at Cloud with his fists clenched. "And if by some miracle you leave in one piece, you'll be on latrine duty for six months."

Cloud blinked, baffled.

" _Am I understood, cadet_?" demanded Antilles.

Cloud jumped. "Yessir."

He turned on his heel.

The door slammed behind him.

And Cloud was alone in his superior's office - his _far_ superior, from the looks of things. Probably his superiors' superiors' superior. He frowned down at his book, trying to remember if he'd ever heard of somebody named Genevieve heading up an important part of SOLDIER.

He was drawing a blank.

He _could_ probably read some of the paperwork strewn over that dusty desk and figure out who he was supposed to have offended and how. It would be sensible. But he was pretty sure that his eyes would land upon something above his clearance level and that? That wasn't just cleaning-latrines-for-six-months bad, that was disappear-in-the-dark-of-the-night bad. Cloud avoided the desk entirely.

Actually, he might be able to get into trouble just being unsupervised in this office. Was he meant to look out the window? Was there some terrible consequence for looking up and trying to spot the cameras? He didn't even know.

Cloud stood still and stared at the far wall for almost an hour. It was pretty much the same as guard duty in that regard. Except he knew what he was supposed to be doing when he was on guard duty. Here was just -

He had no idea what was even going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh how did I upload the wrong version? S i g h. Okay, it's fixed now. So! If there was something you liked here please let me know in a comment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud's confusion is resolved! Genesis finally gets to discuss his goddamn book.

It was almost ten at night when somebody actually came to the office, and it certainly wasn’t the office’s owner.

Sephiroth had come by primarily because the light in the office was on, and given the fervour with which Genesis avoided his own office (and the paperwork within) it seemed unlikely that he‘d be there at ten in the evening.

It was, as he’d predicted, not Genesis.

Completely as he had _not_ predicted, however, it was a cadet. A small, fluffy-headed cadet, waiting upright with an expression that suggested he was either another of Hollander’s failed experiments in zombification, or that he had been waiting for long enough to fall into some kind of hibernation.

“Cadet,” said Sephiroth.

The cadet jerked, blinked large, bright blue eyes in Sephiroth’s direction, and saluted. The action looked like muscle memory, like it was executed on autodrive and with no particular thought at all, just fluid movement. Superior officer. Salute. That, if nothing else, convinced Sephiroth that the boy actually was a cadet and not a child playing dress-up.

Had they lowered the recruitment age again? Sephiroth had been sorting through the paperwork for the new policy changes to recruitment -- although the PR angle, and subsequent nightmares, were happily somebody else’s problem for now -- and he was certain he’d have noticed a lowering of the age of consent to armed service.

So he had to be sixteen, at least.

...Sephiroth had never felt quite so tall.

“On whose orders are you here?” Somebody had to have let him in.

“Sergeant Antilles, sir. I’m to wait here and give this to --” a pause. “The commander?”

It was a question, although it wasn’t phrased in a way that made that explicit. Sephiroth decided the cadet had no idea whose office he was waiting in, which made him an odd choice to be waiting there at all. Those big blue eyes looked at him in evident bewilderment, and Sephiroth’s gaze dropped down to the book in his hand.

LOVELESS. Of course. He didn’t sigh. Instead he held out one hand for the book. The cadet gave it up immediately and without question. “How did you come by this, Cadet?”

The cadet hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again, and then, quietly, said: “A man at a theatre performance gave it to me?”

He looked at the book in Sephiroth’s hands.

He didn’t seem like he was lying. Sephiroth was poor at responding to social cues, but good at reading them. It helped, also, that the office was quiet enough at this time of night that Sephiroth could hear the cadet’s heart beat. It was nervous, quick, but it hadn’t changed from its baseline.

“And you are in this office, why?”

“Sergeant Antilles instructed me to remain here and give the book to the commander.” His tone said what the words didn’t: whoever that is.

Antilles was presumably unaware of Genesis’s habits, because there seemed like a significant risk that the cadet would starve before Genesis would willingly show up to do actual office work. Still. “Does Lazard Deusericus know you’re here?”

The cadet nodded. “He provided directions.”

Sephiroth tapped his fingers upon the cover of LOVELESS. “And you’re quite sure your orders were to... wait?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sephiroth kept watching, but no further comments were forthcoming.

Hmm. Well, if there was a security breach the Turks would be all over it -- and the cadet didn’t have clearance to enter or leave the building at this time of night anyway. Sephiroth handed the book back. “As you were, then, Cadet.”

The cadet's relief was nearly palpable. Sephiroth stifled the inappropriate and unusual urge to reach out and gently pat his fluffy, fluffy hair. Strange.

On the heels of that thought, though, Sephiroth paused at the door. “Cadet,” he said thoughtfully, “do you recall the name of the person who gave that book to you?”

“I... Genevieve?” said the cadet, brows furrowing in confusion.

Sephiroth blinked once, slowly. “Genevieve?”

“Rapidillor. It’s... written in the cover, sir.”

Sephiroth took the book back for a second just to glance at the inside of the cover. It definitely said _Genesis Rhapsodos._ But Sephiroth only knew that because he knew the signature. If he looked at it from a stranger’s perspective...

“Genevieve Rapidillor,” he repeated slowly. He ...could see it. Then he closed the book with a soft snap. “I see. Thank you. As you were, Cadet.”

“Sir.”

And Sephiroth left.

He sent Angeal a PHS message on the way out, querying how he could sway Genesis into physically arriving at the office the following morning. He didn't need a repeat of the time Red Leather had banded together to get Genesis flowers and have them delivered there. Sometimes he thought he could still smell the rot. A whole cadet would be so much worse.

* * *

At nine the following morning, Cloud was still waiting. He'd taken a break around midnight, stretched his joints and muscles and re-read the last chapter of LOVELESS.

He hadn't been game to leave the office and he was a little too paranoid to take the nap he so dearly wanted. Despite that, the building was heated and waiting there was actually more comfortable than the average night on guard rotation, even if it was longer.

At nine-thirty the commander did finally show up. First came rapid footsteps, then the ripping of paper somewhere outside and then the door banged open with a force that shattered the oppressive hush of the office.

"Unbelievable," said the commander. He tossed a ball of paper into the rubbish and Cloud could see the edge of a stick figure as it unfurled slightly upon landing. Then he was stripping out of his coat and tossing it over his desk with absolutely no regard for the dust or the paperwork. "I have to say, usually Red Leather sends me apple cider or fruit. Nobody's ever tried to give me a cadet be-- oh, it's you."

Cloud swallowed. He definitely recognised the man, all broad shoulders, expressive face, long limbs with deft hands. It was the same person who'd given him the book in LOVELESS avenue. Except now he was dressed in a much more familiar uniform. There was even the SOLDIER logo on his thick belt.

"I've been asked to return this to you, sir," Cloud said. It was astonishing that his voice came out even as steadily as it did.

The commander eyed him for a few seconds.

“Have you,” he said, voice all soft and not very friendly. It was not a question, Cloud thought. Then he took LOVELESS from him and flipped it open, presumably inspecting the state of it. He flipped the pages, apparently amused to see where the text fell open most easily.

"You've left me with a dilemma, Cadet," he said finally, tapping the flat of his desk with the spine of the book. "I've already had a second copy of this edition delivered. I hadn't predicted that you’d find me."

That... probably made a lot of sense. Because, well -- "Your name's not Geneveive, is it, sir?"

He snorted softly. "No, Cadet, it is not." He looked at Cloud critically. His eyes were grey, but the mako in them made them glow like the sky before a midday storm. "How long have you been here?"

"Since inspection yesterday."

"Believe it or not, I'm poorly acquainted with the schedule of the cadets," said the commander in a condescending drawl.

Cloud felt his face heat. "Sorry, sir. Six in the morning, sir."

Not-Genevieve (although Cloud now had a distinct and sinking feeling he knew what the commander's name was) glanced at the clock, then curled a lip. He looked at Cloud with an expression that said he was better acquainted with six in the morning than he had any desire to be.

“I see." He held up the book, peering thoughtfully at it for a second. Then he handed it back to Cloud. "This is yours, Cadet. Try not to lose it.”

Cloud clutched the book.

The commander’s eyes lingered on the way he held it. After a second he seemed to shake off whatever thought had occurred to him. “Now go clean up and bring me a coffee."

A coffee?

...Really?

After Cloud's brief but incredulous pause, one of the commander’s eyebrows began to rise dangerously. Cloud saluted. “Yessir.”

When Cloud left, he saw that the warning sign with the fiery and murderous stick figure had been torn roughly away, revealing a plaque that read ‘CMDR GENESIS RHAPSODOS’.

And, yeah. Yeah, Cloud knew that name. In no way had he associated it with the stranger in civilian clothing who’d been so insistent about lending Cloud his book. Not least because the stranger had been nice. He swallowed nervously, glancing at the sign, and then -- right. Clean up. Coffee.

Right.

Cloud had to dash back to the cadet barracks to clean up, and as he did so he found his mind occupied primarily by confusion. Genesis Rhapsodos had something of a reputation, especially as regarded cadets. It completely explained why Sergeant Antilles was convinced Cloud was actually going to be murdered or something.

Despite that reputation, Cloud found himself... curiously intact. Admittedly, he hadn’t done anything wrong, but... Well, Commander Rhapsodos had set a cadet on fire once. Or so they said.

Maybe the rumours were exaggerated.

In the end, Cloud managed to get back onto the SOLDIER floor by waving his copy of LOVELESS at a helmeted Second Class, who peered at the signature and let him follow him out of the lift without much difficulty.

"I'm so sorry," said the Second, with what seemed like very real sincerity.

"...thanks?" said Cloud uncertainly, and then stumbled when the SOLDIER clapped him heavily on the shoulder.

Cloud found the break room without much trouble. Making coffee wasn't his specialty, but he definitely knew how -- his mother needed her coffee strong and black and within about thirty seconds of waking up, or else she was about as friendly as a cornered wolf in the mornings.

The coffee machine was a fancy, ShinRa-made model, but it really didn't look any harder to operate...

When he tried it, the machine screamed like somebody was murdering a whole chorus of bagpipers. The shot came out slowly and when it was finally done it looked like watery dirt. Cloud had been bullied enough as a child to know, when he tasted it, that watery dirt would have been an improvement on the flavour. At least dirt didn’t taste so... burnt.

"Is it always like that?" he asked the room's only other occupant, a huge-muscled Third Class who was brewing a sweet-smelling Wutainese tea.

"Yep," said the SOLDIER. He paused. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. Why? Do the cadets have a better one?"

Cloud didn't snort, too nervous standing next to a SOLDIER who outranked him (and, incidentally, who could probably crush his skull like a cantaloupe), but it was a near thing. "We don't have one," he admitted. "Cafeteria or nothing."

The SOLDIER rapidly lost interest. "Probably better coffee anyway," he shrugged then. "I think they don’t fix it so they don't have to spend money on coffee grounds."

That actually sounded exactly like something ShinRa would do.

"You can try some of my tea, if you like," he offered mildly, and Cloud wondered if the SOLDIERs were all this friendly. Maybe it was something that happened to them when they got their enhancements? It sure wasn't present in the cadets...

"It's not for me," Cloud admitted. "Commander Rhapsodos asked..." He trailed off then because the Third had winced and was now giving him a deeply pitying look.

"He takes it with like a million teaspoons of sugar," he advised Cloud sympathetically. "Do you need me to, um, tell anyone where you are?"

"...no, my sergeant knows," said Cloud slowly.

The pitying look got somehow more intense. "Right. ...Good luck, Cadet. I'm Luxiere. If you... you know, need anything."

Cloud was treated to another bracing slap on the shoulder that sent him stumbling.

He looked back down at the cup of coffee. It was probably going to gain sentience and begin eating people at any moment. Also pretty much par for course with ShinRa. They could send it down to the labs, and, from what he’d heard, it could probably take over from one of Hollander’s research assistants.

Scowling, he threw it out.

The machine couldn't be that bad. ShinRa machines were expensive, but they were also usually pretty good. Everybody knew that.

It took him a few moments to find the auto-clean function that would back flush the inner workings of the machine. The pressure built up with that same unholy scream, which made him feel like maybe he should be taking cover instead of waiting for it to build. Just because it hadn't blown up the first time didn't mean it wasn't going to. Then when he released it to drain the boiling water away, it took the machine a few long, agonising moments to begin disgorging...

Uh. Cloud wasn't sure. If it had ever been part of a coffee plant, or even something more generally edible, it sure wasn't now. It really didn't smell very good, either.

Staring in distant, sleep-deprived horror at the foul discharge running down toward the drain, Cloud slowly put down the cup.

After a second's contemplation, he used a stray knife to unscrew the panelling from the side of the machine. He'd fixed more cars and tractors than things like this, but he could at least have a look...

When the innards of the machine were revealed, he found that it was not quite as complicated as he'd feared... and also that the problem was readily apparent. Cloud sighed, switched the coffee machine off at the wall, and reached gingerly in to tug out some kind of ossified plastic packaging. Something deep inside made a grinding squeal when he finally dislodged it. His fingers came out black.

He turned it on, back flushed it again until the water ran clear, and screwed the panelling back on. Then, finally, he tried making coffee again.

The shrieking was much less pronounced now, at least.

That could only be good. He sniffed the coffee but it smelled okay, so he took his chances.

He knocked once on the commander's door.

"Cadet, you're late!"

Cloud winced but took that as permission to enter. "Yes, sir," he agreed, because it had taken all of three hours as a cadet to conclude that silly little protestations like 'but you didn't give me a time?' were always construed as back talk. In general, drill sergeants did not appreciate anything that looked like back talk.

Inside the office, Commander Rhapsodos had curled in the chair behind his desk. What weak sunlight they got in Midgar poured through the window, lighting the edges of his hair like a halo, dramatic and bloody. Tiny dust motes danced in its light, and when Rhapsodos did finally look up at Cloud, his face was so pretty it seemed almost alien: skin smooth, nose straight, eyes fierce and intense and gleaming in the light.

Cloud shifted uneasily. Little wonder the man had a literal fan club.

Cautiously, he set the coffee down next to the sleeve of the commander's coat, which was still slung haphazardly over one side of the desk, threatening the balance of a precarious stack of dusty paperwork. The paperwork didn’t look to Cloud like it was getting done anytime soon.

“Tsk,” muttered Rhapsodos, glancing at the coffee like it had offended him somehow. He looked up -- although not very far up, considering his height and Cloud’s lack thereof -- at Cloud, met his gaze, and gestured imperiously to the only other seat in his office.

Slowly, feeling like maybe he was doing something wrong, Cloud perched uncertainly on the edge of the seat. Superior officers, as a rule, didn’t ask him to sit down. On the other hand, it was good to get off his feet. He’d been standing for more than twenty hours, punctuated only by his clandestine midnight break. Even guard shifts let him get in brief perimeter patrols.

Rhapsodos wasted absolutely no time on formalities. "Now that you've read it, what did you think of the play?"

Was there a right answer? He wasn't sure. He gripped his book more tightly. "...They rearranged it," he said finally.

"Obviously," scoffed the commander.

"Sorry, sir."

A pause.

"That's it?" he demanded. "That's your opinion? That they _rearranged_ it?"

That seemed like it was very much not the only opinion he should have, so Cloud continued -- mostly out of sheer self-defence.

“I liked the book better.” He hesitated again, and he was pretty sure from the ferocious expression that crossed his face that Commander Rhapsodos was actually about to injure him if he wasn’t more forthcoming. "The play -- it's all from that girl's perspective, and it ended at the beginning where she finds the Prisoner and takes him back to recover despite being an enemy. The end there is sort of... it’s about her taking him away from the quest and all the problems between the friends. But in the part that scene's based on, it’s the part where the poem says 'even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return' -- He's talking about reuniting with the Hero and the Wanderer. Even if nothing good can possibly be coming, he has to go back to them. Because... he promised them. He has to return so they can be reunited, even if it means leaving her behind."

There was a moment of silence "...Right?"

"That's actually not the only, or even the most common, interpretation of that scene," said the commander finally, peering curiously at him.

"...it's not?" Cloud felt overwhelmingly stupid. He'd struggled enough with just reading the complicated language of the text. He chewed his bottom lip, then noticed the commander's critical eyes on his mouth and immediately stopped. It wasn’t like he’d ever studied literature or anything.

"The reason the play is always told from the perspective of the love interest is because it's popularly viewed as a romance; the central conflict is usually considered to be between the quest and their relationship, or perhaps the hierarchy of importance of his personal connections -- is his loyalty to her, the beloved enemy, or to his friends?” Cloud nodded slowly, and Rhapsodos went on: “In some versions the quest is viewed as a metaphor entirely: an obstacle course to be overcome as the Prisoner grows, becomes a different person in maturity and exchanges his boyhood friends for a wife and a more settled life. Thus is the Prisoner ‘freed’.” He waved one hand expressively and picked up his coffee with the other to take a drink.

Cloud blinked slowly. "Oh," he said, feeling stupider by the second. "Sorry."

If he even noticed the apology, the commander ignored it. "What makes you think the relationship between the Wanderer, the Hero and the Prisoner is the most important aspect? --Hm. Did you get this from somewhere else?" He added, lifting the cup again. He peered at it with furrowed brows and fierce eyes.

"I -- no. It's from the break room. Sir. And... it's not the relationship. I think it's important because he promised. He makes that promise with the others -- That the three of them will do it together. They made a promise. That's what's important."

"Is it," said Commander Rhapsodos, although less like a question and more like a comment to himself. “A question of personal integrity rather than interpersonal relationships. Interesting.”

After a second he held up his cup toward Cloud. "This is good coffee."

"Thank you, sir."

Rhapsodos gave a considering hum and eyed Cloud for a few long seconds. The impact of his mako-bright stare through the spill of dark red hair was almost hypnotic.

Then, finally, he made a thin, annoyed sound and spoke again. "Cadet.” A pause. “Strife,” he added, and Cloud stiffened in alarm that the commander actually did know his name. He tapped his fingers upon the cluttered desk while he stared intently at Cloud. “You're not what we look for in SOLDIER. You won’t make the cut. Consider quitting while you're ahead.”

Cloud's heart stopped. His face felt numb, his tongue clumsy. "I -- sir?"

But he'd already gone back to his pile of neglected paperwork. "You're dismissed, Cadet."

"...sir?"

"That means leave," he said. He made a sweeping gesture toward the door.

"...Yes, sir," said Cloud, and left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud is stubborn, Military service is cruel and Genesis does what he wants.

Cadet left and Genesis frowned. He had no particular concern for his own behaviour -- whether or not he chose to continue with his cadetship was really Cadet's own problem. But Genesis would not have warned him if he hadn't liked him, and he did regret the absolutely evident shame and bewildered hurt on Cadet's face...

Genesis scowled fiercely. If anything, that just proved his point. Cadet wasn't at all fit for an actual war if he couldn't handle sincere, well-meant criticism from his own superior officers. Really. And they were actually at war.

Genesis examined the dusty paperwork around himself, bored already. He'd really only come in because Sephiroth had said someone had left ‘something perishable’ in his office. None of them wanted it going bad again. They had sensitive senses.

With a bored glance around the office, Genesis scooped up his coffee and headed out to do something interesting. Sometimes when he went to the gym there were SOLDIERS who didn't immediately find something pressing to do elsewhere, and as long as he took all his materia off they sometimes presented a challenge...

He gulped down the last of his coffee on the way and grimaced at the taste -- not because it was bad, but because it was markedly less bad than usual.

He really hadn't meant to upset Cadet. Or -- not more than a little, anyway. It was information he had to know, surely, for his own sake. And sometimes it hurt to receive that kind of criticism. Genesis would know; he received 'but not quite as good as Sephiroth' as criticism on the frustratingly regular.

But if he'd wanted to upset him that much, he'd have been more deliberate about it. Genesis sort of excelled at upsetting cadets, after all.

He dumped his empty cup in the break room. There was a line there, weirdly, and the whole room stank of coffee.

“Commander, was your coffee--”

Genesis turned an annoyed glare on the Third Class who'd had the gall to interrupt him while he was thinking.

There was a short, awkward pause. "Er, sorry, Commander... I just wanted to -- Luxiere said there was a cadet in here earlier, and -- was the coffee he got you any good?" He finished in a whisper.

Genesis glanced around, finding that the room had gone silent, with only the shriek of the coffee machine as punctuation. It slowed and stopped, finally, and the sheepish Second who had been using the machine clutched his cup and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Well. A room full of big, overmuscled young men waiting on him to speak with bated breath. He relaxed his glare a little. SOLDIERs were all right, mostly.

"It was fine," he said.

The Third gasped. Around him, the others all broke out in low, intent murmurs.

"Kunsel called it," said somebody else. "Bastard."

“How does he always know?” somebody else complained.

* * *

_You won’t make the cut,_ Commander Rhapsodos had said, and Cloud couldn’t drive the thought away. Every time his natural contrariness reared its head to point out that Rhapsodos didn’t know him and certainly had no reference for how quickly Cloud was improving, equally reasonable arguments showed up just to make him feel queasy and uncomfortable.

Commander Rhapsodos was probably one of the most expert authorities on the matter from whom he could have received any kind of feedback. That the feedback had been completely damning just made it all the more likely that it was accurate.

He frowned passively at the cover of LOVELESS.

If an actual commander thought he wasn’t SOLDIER material he was almost certainly right, but that just left Cloud with a series of terrible dilemmas and spiralling thoughts. What was he good material for? Anything?

He felt... tight. Hot in the stomach, nerves twisted.

“You’re in one piece," said Antilles when he reported back relatively unscathed. He examined Cloud’s face with an odd degree of intensity, apparently finding exactly what he wanted to see there. Then he pointed him in the direction of the janitorial closet. “Latrines," he drawled.

At least latrine duty was something he could do. Maybe when he inevitably flunked out of the program he could become a janitor. At least that way he could keep sending money back to his mother.

Cloud dug his fingernails into his palms and clenched his teeth. This was stupid. Between anger and panic and grief he was being stupid. He’d get some sleep and the feeling would pass. Probably. Eventually.

Right. Latrines.

“Yes, sir."

* * *

 

"You're quiet," said Angeal thoughtfully, hours later. "...and not even watching," he added, a little more drily.

Genesis looked up. Angeal's bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Third was decimating a training scenario far beyond his level. He could confirm exactly what Angeal already knew: Zack Fair relied too much on his swordsmanship and lacked confidence with materia.

"Is something bothering you?"

"No," said Genesis. There was a pause. Angeal waited silently. Then, in a rush, Genesis said: "I think I really upset a cadet today."

"... _well_ ," said Angeal warily.

"No," Genesis corrected with a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "I mean by accident."

Zack Fair was extremely bendy for the bulk of his muscle mass. Hmm. He did rely too much on his sword, but Genesis could see his skill with it. It was probably the easier solution on all his missions...

"Oh," said Angeal, sounding suddenly much more sympathetic. "What happened?"

"I told him to quit training while he was ahead."

"...you told a cadet to quit, but you upset him by accident?"

"He's not cut out for it," said Genesis pensively, ignoring Angeal's tone. "You should see him -- fluffy thing with huge blue eyes. He looks like he should be selling something adorable, lets the other cadets push him around--"

Angeal heaved a huge, utterly unnecessary sigh. "Just tell me you did it in private. You didn't barge into a class or something--"

Genesis made a disgusted noise. Although -- observing a cadet class was definitely not a place anybody would expect him, and he was still avoiding Heidigger... The idea had promise. He could take a book for actual entertainment. Huh. _Thanks, Angeal._

"What were you even talking to a cadet for, anyway?"

"His sergeant left him in my office overnight."

"An infantry sergeant left a cadet in your office? All nigh-- Is that what Sephiroth was talking about?” Angeal frowned. “You can’t call the cadets ‘perishables’.”

Genesis snorted. “Have you been to Wutai recently?”

Angeal looked, if anything, even more appalled. He glanced at Genesis though, and seemed to realise that any protest he’d make about that being exactly why they couldn’t say it would be lost upon him -- especially in this mood. “Why would anybody leave you a cadet? You hate cadets."

"I don't hate cadets," Genesis protested mildly. Hate implied that he actually had any feelings about them, which by and large he did not. Sometimes they irritated him, but never for very long.

And certainly not more than once.

"Genesis," Angeal prompted, sparing a glance down at his student when the kid let out an especially enthused whoop. Angeal’s lips curved in a fond smile. Genesis didn’t roll his eyes, and he considered that quite the achievement. Angeal looked like an idiot. You’d never see Genesis taking on a student. Perish the thought.

"I gave him a book some time ago; he said he'd been ordered to return it.” A pause, and Genesis went on helplessly: “...He said the central theme in LOVELESS is the Prisoner honouring his promise, and that there is no true conflict because he hadn't promised the love interest anything." Well. Not quite. But close. Really, Cadet was not the most articulate person he’d ever met.

Angeal hummed thoughtfully. “That's a good way of looking at it. Maybe you should be encouraging someone like that,” he pointed out. “If he’s really set on it, you won’t stop him. Unless -- you didn’t discharge him, did you?"

Genesis frowned. “No.” He was pretty certain he wasn’t meant to fire the cadets, something about undermining the direct chain of command. But maybe he should have.

Angeal looked at him.

“No, I didn’t. But -- he’d be better off," he added, shrugging one shoulder. “If the work doesn’t kill him, probably the other recruits will."

“You like him, though," said Angeal.

Genesis wrinkled his nose. _Like him?_

“You gave him the book."

“I’d ordered a new copy."

“Mm," hummed Angeal. “You said he was cute.”

“I said he should be selling something cute,” Genesis corrected. Then, “And it’s an objective statement. He is-- have you seen those pictures of baby chocobos?”

“Genesis,” sighed Angeal.

Annoyed, Genesis pushed himself away from the bench in the viewing room. “He’s relying too much on the sword because it’s effective," he said abruptly. “Change the simulation to something he can’t kill without using materia. Or take the sword off him."

“I’m not going to _take his sword off him_ ," said Angeal. “That’s --" he cut himself off, eyes narrowing.

A second later he was gone, flinging himself into the simulation just in time with Zack’s startled yelp.

Genesis frowned, eyes narrowing. “...Sephiroth," he said quietly into the silence of the viewing platform, although his nerves screamed that that wasn’t right. It was the spitting image: a tall figure with impractical hair streaming like a silvery banner and glowing, alien eyes. The image was right below him, sword bare in his hand.

“...It’s that program again,” the real Sephiroth mused from where he was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway.

Genesis didn’t jump, but it was an effort of nerves and will and practice. He grunted an acknowledgement.

It did take his eyes a moment to catch up with his instincts. The simulation wasn’t quite the same as the real thing. It was the best tactical program ShinRa could come up with -- which meant it was still Sephiroth’s inferior in pretty much every respect. If they could program an AI that was Sephiroth’s equal, ShinRa would spend a lot less money on SOLDIER.

...although that program was pretty good at showing up out of nowhere, for no reason. It shared that talent with the real thing.

“They still haven’t figured it out?” Sephiroth asked, leaning in the spot where Angeal had been just a moment earlier.

For his part, Angeal seemed to be soothing his annoyed student, explaining how nobody expected him to fight Sephiroth, or even a simulation of him.

“Evidently not,” Genesis agreed. The disapproval in his voice was more to do with how Angeal was coddling his student. When they were Thirds, they’d listened to Hojo crowing about his own superiority while actual real-life Sephiroth kicked them both around the arena -- and Hollander’s responses to their failures became more and more dangerous, outlandish and frightening.

“You think Angeal’s too gentle with him,” Sephiroth said quietly.

For somebody with nearly no social skills, he was very adept at interpreting other people’s tells and silences.

Genesis raised his eyebrows. “It’s not my student.”

Sephiroth hummed, low and considering. Then, abruptly: “Did you truly let that cadet go about thinking you were _Genevieve Rapidillor?_ ”

Oh, for -- How did Sephiroth even know about that? “I hardly thought I’d see him again, or that it would matter. His direct superior recognised my signature,” he added. Then he frowned. Why on gaia would his CO be going through Cadet’s books? That seemed... Oddly invasive.

Everybody above the plate knew what LOVELESS was, because it was showing all the time and therefore advertised every season. Carrying a copy of the book was hardly suspect activity. Was Cadet really such a suspicious person?

“Ah,” Sephiroth said, and Genesis looked up. “I don’t think he likes having his sword taken from him.”

The Third Class was waving his arms melodramatically and Angeal was as immovable as ever -- if Genesis couldn’t budge him, those huge blue eyes belonged at amateur hour. ‘Puppy’ was a good comparison, however -- Zack Fair just needed fuzzy ears and a drooping tail.

Genesis was decidedly a cat person.

Still. Angeal’s attention was well and truly diverted. Genesis straightened from where he was leaning and turned toward the door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be providing feedback?” Sephiroth wondered.

“They don’t need me to provide materia advice to a Third Class. I’m sure they’ll find your insights adequate,” Genesis drawled.

The door thudded closed behind him with a sense of finality. He did love a dramatic exit.

* * *

 

Cloud... didn’t really get over it.

Cloud was dirt poor, he was from a family of no consequence, born out of wedlock to an outsider to the village who was no better than she should be in the eyes of his hometown. He was undereducated, small for his age, and stubborn as the day was long.

With or without Commander Rhapsodos’s damning assessment, he continued doggedly on his path because it was all that was before him. He could scrape up the money and traipse back to Nibelheim, which would end in everybody sneering about how very much they told him so -- or he could stay, send some more of his pittance back to his mother, and find out for sure if he’d really be found wanting.

He stayed.

If he flunked out when the exams came, he might even find something else to do in the city. Money was worth less in Midgar, and he stood a good chance of sending a reasonable sum back to his mother even if he just ended up cleaning toilets below the plate.

But he was going to take the exams. And he was going to do his best. Because, much more than he actually wanted to be a SOLDIER, he wanted to prove that he could be.

Having concluded grimly that this was his course of action, Cloud could not say that he enjoyed being a cadet, all up. _Quitting while you’re ahead_ , in Cloud’s case, may have been best advised before he arrived.

In the week following his strange bizarro-world adventure in the executive offices of the SOLDIER program, Cadet Strife cleaned a lot of latrines. That was bad enough, but the other cadets certainly didn’t improve his quality of living, either.

He put up with Sledge loudly wondering if he’d really stolen from Commander Rhapsodos in front of three members of the commander’s fan club -- and got two semi-hysterical death threats, one of which arrived in chicken’s blood. He put up with it when Higgs edited his face onto a number of vile pictures from an X-rated magazine he’d procured somewhere and delivered the copies halfway across HQ. When somebody poured cement -- actual cement -- in his boots overnight, Cloud took it in - ha ha - stride.

But it was getting very old.

“Cadet,” said Antilles when he showed up in an old pair of sneakers instead of his boots, “I have run out of productive tasks to assign you for punishment.”

Cloud wasn’t surprised. Antilles also seemed to have run out of yelling, which was much more surprising.

“Dig a ditch,” sighed Antilles instead.

So Cloud dug a ditch.

It was a large ditch, because nobody told him how big it should be and Cloud knew better than to ask questions about pointless punishment tasks.

When everybody was released to the mess several hours later, Antilles made him stay there and fill it back in.

So Cloud filled in the ditch.

The only upside to his -- well, his entire life, it felt like -- was that between digging pointless ditches, sweeping ‘all that daylight’ off the ground and the endless, marginally more productive but horrifyingly smelly latrine duty, Cloud was at least not missing out on much physical conditioning. Ditch digging was surprisingly physical.

On the other hand, there were still pictures floating around with his face ineptly pasted to an aging pornstar’s body. Some of them were captioned.

(Some of them were pinned up in the barracks and captioned by multiple hands, a fact he wouldn’t have known if people didn’t insist upon telling him about it.)

Two weeks after he was assigned six months of latrine duty and everybody accepted it as a general signal to make Cloud’s life hell, he was told to ‘get the fuck out of my class until you can show up in uniform,’ which would not be happening until he was provided his stipend and could afford to actually purchase new boots, a fact Antilles knew full well.

Nevertheless, there was never any point making a fuss about orders, even if - especially if - they made no sense. Cloud took himself and his shovel out of his materia class and off to his ditch, which was in one of the outdoors areas. The plate must have been fairly deep, because there didn’t seem to be an obvious limit to the amount of dirt he could shovel before hit metal. There was a class going on out here, too -- a conditioning group, comprised of cadets being screamed at to LIFT THOSE HEELS while they ran to the sound of measured mechanical beeps.

The least they could do was transport something into the ditch, but they never did. He just dug until sundown, and then filled it. And then he stumbled off to do the latrines. Rinse. Repeat.

It was no wonder he was doing it on zombified autopilot. He fumbled his grip on the shovel once, and sent dirt spraying everywhere. For a second he just stared at his ditch.

Right. Shovel.

“...Cadet,” murmured a voice.

Cloud turned.

He had no idea who the guy was, but he was wearing a SOLDIER First’s uniform and passing by right outside the bounds of the field. Cloud twitched, blinked, and saluted. The man was also huge, less in a height way and more in a broad-muscled-immovable-like-a-mountain kind of way.

“No -- you dropped your shovel,” said the First.

Cloud had dropped that shovel so many goddamn times over the past week that this comment really did not register as being very relevant to him, but he supposed the implication was that he ought to pick it up. So he did. Really, ShinRa life was not that hard to become accustomed to: you just did things when you were told and tried to pretend they made sense to you, or to any reasonable person ever, and hoped nobody saw through that pretence.

The First seemed to be examining Cloud’s hair with unprecedented interest.

With a despairing feeling in his guts, Cloud wondered if he, too, had seen those pictures.

“...as you were,” he murmured.

Had the man really just stopped to tell Cloud he’d dropped his shovel? Cloud watched him leave. He was genuinely ropy with muscle. Must be those First Class enhancements. Hmm.

On the field, cadets were freed of their conditioning course to hit the showers then eat whatever horror the mess had produced today. On cue, one of them roared ‘STRIFE, IS IT TRUE YOU CRY WHEN YOU COME?’ at the top of his lungs.

Cloud was too used to it to even flush anymore. Whatever. (He wasn’t sure where that one had come from -- it wasn’t like the pictures showed his face _crying_.)

He sighed and kept digging.

The take away was this: If anybody thought Rhapsodos’s ham-handed caution was going to persuade him to give up, they probably hadn’t ever actually met Cloud.

He was as bloody minded as a tonberry in a snit and he hadn't the good sense God gave a chicken.

* * *

 

Angeal, quite unbeknownst to Cloud, was on his way to find Genesis anyway.

Now, Genesis had been right in that nobody suspected he'd take the time out of his busy schedule of avoiding work and reading to watch a class of cadets fail to learn about materia. However, it was growing rapidly evident that Angeal thought Genesis could be found avoiding Heidigger in pretty much any possible location... which was true.

Currently Genesis was perched on the mezzanine above a lecture on materia, even if he was ignoring them all in favour of a skinny publication titled _Murder Post Mortem in LOVELESS: The Anatomy of Faith and Revival in Early Modern Performance_.

As far as he could tell, nobody had even noticed he was there yet. Certainly the instructor hadn’t, whoever he was -- a trooper, not a SOLDIER, which seemed like an odd choice for a materia lecture. Genesis had listened to his early explanations with half an ear and scoffed quietly.

“They make it sound like a combustion engine,” he complained to Angeal without looking up from the text. He'd heard the creak of leather and his friend's heavy tread when he arrived. “Insert gil, pull lever. No wonder all these cadets are incompetent by the time I get them.”

“Perhaps you should take a lecture,” Angeal suggested. Genesis gave him a poisonous look that Angeal must have been prepared for, because he didn’t even twitch. “Did you know your cadet isn’t even in this class now?”

“My cadet? I don’t have a cadet.”

“The one you were stalking,” Angeal reminded him.

Ah, Cadet.

And -- Genesis was not _stalking_. He did a little bit of poking about, looking at his class scores and his history with ShinRa. It was hardly stalking, practically benign. Besides, Genesis had stopped pretty quickly in a fit of offended disgust that he'd even bothered in the first place. He’d mostly just made sure that Cadet was old enough and he hadn’t dropped out immediately following Genesis’s criticism. It wasn’t like he’d...

Well. Anyway, he’d stopped. It was infinitely less weird and obsessed than Angeal was about his student.

“He hasn’t been in class for days,” he shrugged, unconcerned.

And, yes, okay, perhaps that wasn't the right way to undermine accusations of stalking.

Angeal eyed him, like he was tossing up between two equally unpalatable options. After a second he said: “That’s because he’s digging a ditch in the outdoor training yard.”

Genesis paused for a moment with his eyes on the text, unmoving, and a tiny furrow appeared between his eyebrows while he processed that. “He’s what?”

"Digging a ditch." Angeal leant on the bannister separating the mezzanine from the room below, huge biceps flexing as he put more weight on them.

Genesis stopped himself before he could snap that someone was going to look up and see Angeal and then they might have to actually explain themselves. He tilted his head instead. "Is he?"

"I assume it's the same cadet," Angeal mused.

Genesis looked sideways at him.

"He's very cute, but he looks like he's about to fall over -- he's never going to get through the physicals." A pause. "It's sweet that you worried, though."

He was teasing now. Genesis stood up, closing his book with an audible snap, and--

"Commander Hewley?" said a voice from below, sounding baffled.

Angeal paused and, if Genesis was any judge, cringed a little inside. Well. Good. That would teach him to stand there in their line of sight and draw attention to them both.

"Ah, Sergeant," said Angeal, giving the impression that he knew exactly who he was talking to and was about to ask after his wife and kids by name.

"Are you thinking of taking on another student?"

There were immediate whispers through the room.

Angeal shot Genesis a look that bordered on desperate. "Not today. I have my hands full with just one," he added with a rueful huff of laughter.

Genesis was close to the wall, away from the railing and the cadets' line of sight. Briefly he contemplated leaving Angeal to it and getting out while he still could.

"Yes, I remember Cadet Fair," said the instructor in a tone that suggested he'd really, truly rather not remember him.

Genesis thought that was the most sensible thing he'd heard from the sergeant yet, but he also saw Angeal shift uncomfortably on his feet and caught the second, even more pleading glance shot his way.

Genesis eyed him for a second. Then he gave Angeal an indulgent look and smiled, a flash of teeth. There was a moment of uncertainty in Angeal's eyes, but it was too late.

Genesis slapped his journal against Angeal's chest with enough force to make him rock back upon his heels and leapt for the railing. For a second he stood there, glowering down at the class -- just long enough for the friendly expression on the instructor's face to drop away in a wash of alarming pallor when he realised that Angeal was not alone, which was as it should be.

"Genesis," Angeal hissed urgently.

Genesis ignored him. He took a step forward and dropped from the railing in a flutter of bright red leather.

He landed lightly and paced through the classroom, revelling in the frozen silence. Everybody was still, each cadet clearly hoping that by making no sudden moves they could avoid his attention falling upon them. How sweet.

"I'm here to audit your class," he declared, lifting his chin and regarding them all with the kind of expression that made live plants wither, curl up and die. He turned on his heel with his coat flaring around him and looked directly at the instructor. "Frankly it's a _disgrace_."

The instructor's face went grey. Whatever else he was contemplating, it wasn't exciting new ways to ingratiate himself with Angeal.

Genesis tossed his head and launched into a blistering critique of the instructor's lecture, beginning with factual mistakes and misconceptions about materia and progressing steadily through to his vocal delivery.

After about fifteen minutes, Genesis found he was actually quite enjoying himself, so his commentary ran long indeed. He was winding down in addressing the faults in this instructor's voice projection by the time Angeal appeared out of nowhere at his shoulder and finally hustled him out of the classroom.

"If you're quite finished indulging yourself," he muttered as soon as the door closed behind them.

"They should be so lucky. Are you coming?"

"Coming where? You're going in the wrong di-- are we going to see your cadet? Are you going to check on your cadet?" he asked, sounding suddenly delighted.

"He's not my cadet and I'm not going to check on him," sniffed Genesis.

"Then why are we going back to the outdoor training field instead of to the meeting that we are already--" Angeal glanced at his PHS, "-- twenty four minutes late to? Are you sure we shouldn't have told the good sergeant that _you_ were taking on a student?"

Genesis rather thought that Angeal had just answered his own question. "Don't be absurd. I'm going to, hm ...broaden his horizons."

Poor deprived Cadet Strife had missed a very informative materia class -- the first of his cadetship, in all likelihood -- and he deserved some small consolation. And if it _was_ in the opposite direction to his meeting? All the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like something? Drop me a comment and let me know. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genesis has a lot of feelings, some of which contradict each other, and most of which are expressed as smugness and/or resentment. Cloud is confused but too tired to give a shit. Angeal and Sephiroth are filthy enablers, even though Angeal is trying not to be.

When Genesis walked somewhere with the _click click click_ of his polished boots echoing, people’s heads turned. Like weather vanes they turned, unerringly following a current as it blew past them. Genesis liked to think people were just naturally attuned to the presence of their betters -- but he would, if you pushed him, admit that wearing a screaming red coat and reciting poetry at the top of his lungs sometimes contributed.

He wasn’t reciting poetry right now, but he was moving in long easy strides, with purpose, and the screaming red coat was nearly ubiquitous in his life. One scientist plastered himself to a wall to avoid getting in Genesis’s way, which he appreciated, and two Turks looked up from the conversation they were having about an apparently-blank stretch of wall to follow him with their steady, empty gazes. Several cadets, seeing him coming, got out of the way and cringed as though they were frightened his attention might land upon them anyway.

They should be so lucky, he thought darkly.

At his shoulder, Angeal was a comparatively drab, faintly mountainous shadow.

“...How do you ever manage to hide from anyone?” he wondered as the automatic doors hissed open and ejected them out into the chilly early-winter air above the plate.

Genesis refrained from pointing out that if everybody expected you to be wearing bright red and yelling it was just as easy to put on a pair of faded jeans and head for somewhere quiet to blend in. Angeal may have been his best friend, but he would only use this knowledge for evil. Evil, in this case, meant ‘making him go to boring meetings on time more often’, which Angeal did just as often as he could catch him.

There was a series of steps, and then between two towering buildings in the ShinRa compound was a seating area where the lower level office workers occasionally ate lunch, and beyond that the sprawling outdoor training field.

And there was Cadet. He stuck out like a lily in a rosebush, short and spiky and very pale.

“I think he might have gotten smaller,” Genesis admitted, eyeing that distinctively fluffy blond head as he laboured.

Genesis could tell immediately why he was out here instead of inside the warm lecture hall (significantly warmer, it might be argued by the instructor, for Genesis’s having left it): he was wearing a pair of dirty, off-grey running shoes. Those were definitely not part of the uniform.

Curiously, Genesis’s first thought was not _what kind of idiot loses his boots?_ Rather there was a flash of memory, a _there was an accident, and now I owe the library fifty gil_ that echoed in his mind. Then the first explanation that honestly occurred to Genesis was simply, _somebody’s done something to the little fool’s shoes_.

He scowled fiercely. People scattered before him, which he ignored. But -- that thought! It stank of a kind of bias about which Genesis felt deeply resentful. It was Cadet’s own fault he was here, and if he was too stupid or stubborn to quit while he was ahead he probably deserved anything that came his way. Besides, it was almost certain that Cadet _had_ done something stupid and lost his boots. He was a cadet; they were all idiots.

His pace picked up.

“STRIFE,” he bellowed in a voice that bounced off the buildings and echoed into the grey sky above. Next to him, Angeal winced. Supersensitive hearing was not always a blessing. Several other passersby jumped and jerked and looked wildly around, presumably trying to locate the source of the supposed strife.

Cadet, on the other hand, seemed too tired to respond with as much adrenalin as the office staff. He twitched and looked up at the cry of his name, then saluted on reflex -- it looked almost like a stretch reflex, too, in the same way that a person jerked when the patella was struck just so, like the impulse didn’t even have to get all the way to his brain first. Uncomplicated. Ingrained. He looked ...tired.

Still improbably cute.

But tired, too.

Cadet blinked. He had huge blue eyes. He looked confused, and despite very little physical resemblance it still brought to mind the soft-furred, head-tilty way a small puppy looked confused.

Angeal made a noise, a thin startled noise, in the back of his throat. Genesis was sure that, had he looked sideways at him, Angeal would look like he’d been hit by a truck. A fluffy, adorable truck.

“Sir,” said Cadet, as Genesis came to a stop.

He didn’t look so much smaller, Genesis decided, as he looked skinnier. And, yes, as Angeal had suggested, a little like a strong wind would send him sprawling.

“Where are your boots?” Genesis demanded, crossing his arms.

There was a pause, but not a long one.

“Damaged, sir,” said Cadet.

“Damaged,” Genesis repeated slowly, sneering.

Cadet looked up at him from under the fluffy spill of his hair, but he didn’t actually elaborate. “Yes, sir.”

“How?”

There was a short, awkward silence. “I’m not quite sure.”

“ _How_ , Cadet?” Genesis snapped, causing the six or seven people who were shamelessly eavesdropping to flinch. One of them decided it wasn’t worth her life and continued her commute between buildings with her head down and her eyes fixed on the ground. Somebody should probably have promoted her.

Cadet seemed more resigned than frightened. “There seems to be cement in them, sir.”

 _There_ , thought Genesis, viciously satisfied with himself beyond all rational measure. Too easily pushed around. He remembered quite suddenly why he’d wanted Cadet to realise he had no future with ShinRa’s military -- it was because Genesis was his superior officer, and Genesis didn’t want to be responsible for this train wreck.

(He ignored the thought that he was likely never going to be in the direct chain of command for Cadet. Cadet was at best going to be infantry. And then dead, because, well. Wutai. That thought was almost as irritating.)

What was he even still doing here? Surely they still paid people to pose with baby chocobos?

Angeal gave a deep, rumbling sigh and shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Cement,” he muttered.

Genesis ignored Angeal. Instead he whipped out his copy of _Murder Post Mortem in LOVELESS: The Anatomy of Faith and Revival in Early Modern Performance_ from beneath his arm.

“Read this,” he demanded peremptorily, and slapped the journal against Cadet’s chest.

He let it go almost immediately, so Cadet either had to scramble to catch it or let it fall to the dirt.

Because Cadet had an evident sense of immediate danger, if not of long-term self-preservation, he dropped the shovel and snatched the journal before it could fall. He clutched it to his chest and looked at Genesis like he might be about to throw other things of vital importance at him. Like a grenade, maybe.

Genesis did not have a grenade but he certainly had materia equipped. He... thought about it.

“...Thank you?”

There was a pause.

Genesis raised an eyebrow. Slowly.

“Sir,” added Cadet, flushing across his cheekbones.

There was no noise, and barely a shift of movement, but even without looking Genesis could feel Angeal cooing. He’d known this would happen. He hoped Wutai never found out that Angeal could be so easily disarmed by dense concentrations of cuteness.

“I’ve already read it,” Genesis dismissed. He had, too, and while it was an okay read there was very little about the expressions of faith and divinity -- and death -- in _LOVELESS_ that Genesis hadn’t given thought to. “I’ll expect you to have it read by the end of the week,” he added magnanimously, because Cadet seemed to have a lot of things to do between now and then.

He was aware, from looking into Cadet’s files -- which had been curiosity, not stalking -- that he’d been assigned six months of latrine duty. The only reason Cadet would be stuck digging ditches was if they’d run out of actually useful tasks for him to complete. That implied quite a lot of punishment work.

He eyed the ditch. Angeal, next to him, had followed his glance and was also eyeing the ditch.

After a moment, it seemed like Cadet remembered the ditch was there and he also began to look at it as though he was seeing it properly for the first time in some time. He blinked slowly at it, looking a little dazed.

“It’s a good ditch, Cadet,” said Angeal soothingly, and patted him on the biceps.

Cadet swayed a little under the heft of his hand. He gave Angeal’s fingers the same kind of look he might have given a live dragon. “...Thank you, sir,” he said in a very low voice.

Honestly, having a cadet out here digging ditches was arguably the stupidest use of cheap labour Genesis had seen from Shinra in -- Gaia, in at least a week. He sneered at the ditch.

Then: “Cadet. Don’t fill it in,” Genesis said on a whim, toeing the earth.

This didn’t seem to upset Cadet in the slightest -- unsurprising -- although he did look a bit confused. “Yes, sir,” he said slowly.

“Genesis,” sighed Angeal in a hugely disapproving voice.

Genesis glanced at his PHS. They were pretty late. Hopefully if he showed up now, Heidigger would already have left. He could read Lazard’s notes and pretend they didn’t work together.

“Good.” He said breezily, waving one hand. “And stop doing whatever this is, this is stupid. Go do something indoors for the rest of the day.” And he turned and stalked off into the executive building.

* * *

 

Of course, from Cloud’s perspective, Commander Rhapsodos had appeared out of nowhere, demanded a report on his footwear, forced an academic journal upon him and then disappeared. That was...

He wasn’t sure if the word was ‘terrifying’ or ‘surreal’, or if there was a word that somehow combined both.

“What in the world are you going to do with a ditch in the middle of the training field?” he heard Rhapsodos’s companion wonder even as he kept trying to herd Genesis along faster. Genesis’s pace did not change, but Cloud had to admit that there was something admirable about the dogged effort his friend put in.

Was that Commander Hewley, then? He’d heard of him, but he seemed... well, he seemed not at all like one of the top three SOLDIERs ought to be. He seemed patient and warm. Big, though. Kind of... yeah, big. Cloud rolled his shoulder, trying to rid himself of the phantom memory of that huge hand clapped over his biceps.

“What does anybody do with a ditch?” the Commander sniffed, and the rest of the conversation went unheard as the doors hissed closed behind them.

There were lots of things somebody could do with a ditch, Cloud thought. You could drill in supports for a structure. You could plant something deep. You could bury something you didn’t want other people to find -- or a body.

He eyed the ditch he was digging with a new suspicion.

Maybe Commander Rhapsodos would bury the coffee machine from the SOLDIER break room?

Then, after a moment, he shoved the journal he’d been given into his bag and, after a second’s hesitation, went to put the shovel away. Commander Rhapsodos’s orders presumably trumped most anyone’s, even if they weren’t especially clear. At least Cloud would probably get time to go to the mess this evening, if he didn’t have to fill the ditch...

He did. The food was vile and the remaining cadets there were antagonistic, but the opportunity to shovel food down his gullet while it was still hot was golden.

That night was latrine duty, which meant only a hundred and seventy-one days to go. Then Cloud put himself through the minor trauma of a shower. While he appreciated ending up in the showers at ten to curfew, well after everybody else had been and gone -- and therefore well after anybody would try to swipe at him, grab him or say something humiliating to him -- it also meant that the lukewarm water the cadets actually got was all used up. The water was cold for about two minutes and then icy for the following five, and then Cloud’s tolerance for scrubbing himself with snowmelt was pretty much up and he got out before his nipples exploded.

Of course there was usually -- most days -- a new copy of at least one of those stupid pictures on the wall somewhere, curling and water stained in the steam. Today’s had some clear instructions as to how Cloud could improve his dick-sucking technique ( _none_ of which were actually accurate, if you asked Cloud, which of course nobody had). He tore it down, ran more water over it, and threw it out in a sodden heap.

Then he headed for his room, where he discovered somebody had stolen his sheets and blankets. Neither Sledge nor Higgs seemed to have any knowledge as to how that could have happened.

He was too tired to argue about it, so he fell face-first onto his mattress and slept that way instead. Whatever.

The next day, Cloud showed up to his ditch to find that it had been colonised by two women in hideously bright coveralls, who seemed to be... planting a tree.

“It’s a good ditch,” said one of them when he arrived. “Didn’t really have to do anything much in the way of digging. Nice surprise, that.”

“Will a tree even grow here?” Cloud wondered, watching in bafflement. He hadn’t seen much of anything grow on the plate.

The workers shared a glance.

“Well,” said one of them.

“Um,” said the other.

“It’s a Banora White,” said the first, and shrugged. “So you’ll never know.”

Cloud squinted. “…what?”

“They look the same alive as they do dead – it’ll just never grow fruit. And you’ll be stuck wondering if it’s dead, or alive, or just not… producing. Which sometimes they don’t, even if they’re alive. They’re notorious for not sticking to any kind of seasonal fruiting.”

Was that even possible? “That seems…”

“ _Dumb_?” prompted one woman.

The other made an aggrieved noise and smacked her arm hard enough that she swayed. “Don’t.” And then the first dissolved into giggles.

Strange gardeners aside, Cloud quickly surmised that he would not be digging this particular ditch today. He could definitely have gone to Antilles and found out what his next punishment task of no earthly benefit to anybody would be, but...

But in the end his dorm was empty while Sledge and Higgs were actually at classes they were allowed to attend.

He made his way back, dug out his copy of _Murder Post Mortem in LOVELESS_ and read that instead. Some of the concepts were a little esoteric, which made reading quite difficult. There was a fair bit of stuff about the Lifestream and the Goddess that he hadn’t really encountered before, and only half-understood through context. If he hadn’t been banned from the library... well. But he was, at least until he paid his fine, which was going to have to happen after he got new boots.

But even the bits he didn’t understand sure as hell beat digging ditches all morning just to fill them in again in the afternoon, and when it was too dense and difficult and he put it back down, Cloud even managed to get some of his classwork done.

Of course, the next day his sergeant managed to find something new for him to spend all his time doing.

* * *

 

“Can you assign a cadet that much punishment work?” Angeal wondered. Genesis was stretched out on the couch in Angeal’s office, which wasn’t strictly unusual. The couch in Angeal’s office was comfortable.

There was no couch in Genesis’s office; he didn’t want to encourage anyone to stay.

“Something something cadet something punishment,” Genesis repeated, raising his eyebrows above his book.

“Your cadet, Genesis.”

Genesis dropped the book to his chest and raised his eyes to the ceiling. _His_ cadet? Honestly.

This was a new development, and not one Genesis approved of. He took no ownership -- and _certainly_ no responsibility -- for any cadets. Ever. He wasn’t even given them for training exercises until they made SOLDIER.

Angeal referred to Cadet as ‘your cadet, Genesis’ now.

It had been six days since Angeal had followed him out to the training field and met the cadet in question - and as far as he knew, Cadet was still out in that same field digging a brand new ditch not far from the old one.

Genesis hadn’t bothered checking in on him in that time, because Genesis simply did not care very much. If he was being honest, Genesis’s bouts of caring about anything other than himself were directly related to how much work he had piling up on his desk at any given moment.

But now Angeal was checking in on Cadet for him. Repeatedly. Whether or not Genesis wanted him to -- and, right now, in defiance of Genesis’s distinct preference otherwise.

“I told him to quit the program, Angeal; he’s hardly ‘my cadet’.”

Angeal gave him a look. It was oddly soft around the edges. Genesis felt like he was about to break out in hives just viewing it, although he wasn’t quite sure why. He stared right back for a second, and then, when the look didn’t abate, he made a disgusted noise and raised his book again.

“I don’t see why not. It’s not as though you’re doing other work, is it?”

“Rude,” murmured Genesis to the pages. _Accurate_ , but rude.

Angeal ignored his interjection. “He seems to have a good work ethic and it’s clear he needs the help.”

The book came down again. Because: “...What?”

“What?” Angeal blinked back at him.

Genesis sighed. He eyed Angeal irritably and resisted the urge to tell his friend to shave.

They had a few moments of silence, and during this lull Sephiroth found them.

“Why are you looking at cadets’ records?” he asked, more sensibly, when he looked over Angeal’s shoulder. Angeal was seated at his desk, because of course Angeal wrote up all of his mission reports and forwarded all of his paperwork correctly, even though he hated it just as much as any of them. Disciplined, was Angeal. “Don’t you have your own student, Angeal?”

“This one’s for Genesis.”

“...I see,” said Sephiroth, neutrally and in a tone that implied he really very much did not. He glanced more attentively at the screen Angeal was perusing. “Oh. Isn’t that the cadet who thought your name was Genevieve?”

Angeal paused. “He what?”

“From your office?”

“Yes. I already told him to quit,” Genesis reported blandly, completely ignoring the other part of the comment. Sephiroth really was never going to let that go.

“Genevieve?”

Nobody answered Angeal.

“He probably should,” Sephiroth agreed, leaning forward over Angeal’s shoulder to examine the screen. “His records don’t show improvement significant enough to guarantee acceptance. He’ll end up in the infantry, which is... not ideal, although they always need more recruits.” He paused. “Is that why you want Genesis to mentor him?” he asked Angeal slowly.

Angeal blinked up at him from his seat at the desk.

“So you can be sure he’ll quit?” he clarified.

Genesis was peeking over his book just enough to see the scandalised expression of offence on Angeal’s face. “ _Sephiroth_ ,” he said, sounding like all his sensibilities had been betrayed, all at once.

A tiny furrow appeared between Sephiroth’s eyebrows. “Yes?”

Angeal seemed to grapple for a moment with how to explain why that wasn’t an appropriate question, but then he glanced toward Genesis -- colossally unconcerned by the implications of Sephiroth’s comment -- and just sighed. “I don’t think he’d quit even if you did hand control of his training schedule to Genesis. As far as I can tell, he’s been digging a ditch for ten hours a day.” A pause. “ _Somebody_ planted a tree in the first one.”

“The gardeners were very efficient,” said Genesis. “Tseng recommended them.”

His attention had drifted back to his book now that he was no longer under pressure from Angeal. It was a collection of short works built upon the central themes of _LOVELESS_ , but the one he was reading wasn’t very interesting. Genesis liked sprawling, seething gothic literature where people ran around and things caught fire and you were never sure if somebody was hallucinating or if Ifrit really was loose in the streets. Sedate, realist prose had to be very good to catch Genesis’s attention for long -- and this wasn’t. At least it was short, and the next part of the anthology looked promising...

“Genesis!” Angeal barked.

He rolled his eyes and dropped his book again. “What.”

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

“ _I’m_ trying to read.”

“Perhaps either one of you should be trying to attend to your actual work,” Sephiroth suggested.

They both looked at him.

There was silence for a moment.

Then Genesis turned back to Angeal. “What is it?”

It took a second longer to drag Angeal’s gaze from Sephiroth. “You did say you’d see him again at the end of the week,” Angeal pointed out. It sounded like victory in his voice.

“Mm, I did say that, didn’t I?” Genesis agreed. He had. But then, he’d said a lot of things in his life. Many of them were _LOVELESS_ quotes, actually.

Angeal sighed and returned his attention to Sephiroth. “Either way, they can’t assign this much punishment work to a cadet -- he won’t have time to learn anything. That’s what a cadetship is for.”

Sephiroth gave him a slow blink, like a cat. “It does not fall within our purview to interfere in the cadet program,” he explained flatly.

“I know. But they must be in violation of some kind of administrative rule or something, at least.” Angeal frowned at the screen.

“Administrative...? Do you want to set the Turks on him?” asked Sephiroth.

“What? No!”

“I’m not sure I understand,” he said slowly. Then he straightened, dismissing the issue. “Genesis, I came to find you anyway --”

Genesis stilled.

“-- Lazard has requested your presence at the press conference tomorrow morning. It’s scheduled from ten until two.”

“Four hours?” Genesis said, eyeing Sephiroth over his book.

Sephiroth didn’t exactly look thrilled either. “It is to announce, and then defend, the changes to Shinra’s military recruitment policy.”

“Not that it’s my business, but that sounds like Heidigger’s job, not Genesis’s,” said Angeal with a frown.

Genesis snorted. Of course it was. The head of the Public Safety Maintenance Department should have been giving that conference and they all knew it.

“Heidigger will introduce the topic, but he has been deemed less...” Sephiroth paused, blank faced, “public relations friendly,” he finished, looking for all the world like it was a foreign language in his mouth. Quoting Lazard, probably.

The sneer that crossed Genesis‘s face was actually malicious this time. “You mean he’s ugly to look at, and too stupid to think on his feet when they ask the hard questions.” Agitated, he shot to his feet and paced the length of Angeal’s office. _Click click click_ went the heels of his boots.

Sephiroth tilted his head, spilling his shining hair over one shoulder. His expression said that the idea hadn’t occurred to him, which was really just ludicrous. Looking at Heidigger made Genesis shiver with revulsion. It wasn’t quite as bad as looking at Hojo, but -- Oh. Well. Maybe Sephiroth just had a higher tolerance, actually.

He didn‘t engage with Genesis’s - extremely accurate - comment, though. “Lazard suggested that of the SOLDIER program, you and I would be better at addressing a hostile crowd. Most of the recruits want to try out for SOLDIER anyway, so it is arguably relevant, as far as the public is concerned.”

“Probably, yes.” He glanced toward Angeal and wondered why they weren’t sending him instead of either of them. Genesis was beautiful and powerful and well-liked among all the people who didn’t work with him, yes, but Angeal had a face you could trust.

“No,” said Angeal, without even looking up, like he could feel Genesis’s speculation laying heavily upon him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I could hear you thinking it from all the way over here,” muttered Angeal. “I’m not doing it instead of you. Lazard knows I can’t talk to crowds. That’s why he’s sending you.”

Genesis _tsked_ his tongue against his teeth and stared out Angeal’s window instead of looking at him. Below, he could see the outdoor training field where a class of fresh cadets were making fools of themselves trying to follow basic marching orders. Genesis couldn’t see the face of the officer supervising them -- even his eyes weren’t that good at fifty floors into the sky -- but he could see the man’s body language, and he felt a tiny quirk of amusement at the obvious despair.

His eyes drifted to the dumbapple tree, curved and white and twisted in the barren dirt. The stupid thing looked completely out of place there, but nobody had dared tell him so and nobody was about to dig it up. Seeing it struck up an odd nostalgia for his family’s orchard.

... and there, only a few metres away, was a hunched figure with a shock of pale hair.

Ah.

“I have a prior engagement,” he found himself saying.

“You do not,” said Sephiroth.

“Angeal, did I not say I’d check in on Cadet Strife in a week?”

There was the thump of an elbow on the desk top and a soft noise which to Genesis indicated that Angeal was rubbing his hands over his face.

“Angeal?”

“Yes. Yes, he said that, yes, I was there, but --”

Genesis finally turned away from the window. “Do you _really_ think it’s more important that I do Heidigger’s work for him than that I keep my word to a young and idealistic cadet, Angeal?”

From his spot next to the window all he could see now was Angeal’s shoulders, slightly hunched, and the tips of his fingers where they were running through his hair.

Sephiroth looked speculatively between the two of them but he did not interfere.

“I--” There was silence. Genesis just knew Angeal was thinking about Cadet’s huge blue eyes.

“Just -- _try_ to be nice, Genesis,” Angeal said finally.

 _Ah, victory_. With his mood restored now that he’d gotten his way, Genesis smiled.

Now that he was up, he decided it would be best to leave before somebody tried to hand him actual paperwork -- although if Lazard was starting to get Sephiroth to deliver work to him, no place was truly safe. The man _would_ find him if he considered it worth his while.

Genesis’s eyes narrowed as he thought it over. He might have to start getting... creative. He collected his coat from where it had been tossed over the side of the couch.

Then he realised what Angeal had actually implied. “Angeal,” he said mockingly, “I’m always nice.”

Angeal made a disbelieving noise that Genesis magnanimously ignored. He adjusted his collar and scooped his book back up.

“Are you leaving?” Sephiroth asked. His expression was blank and it was hard to tell if he wanted Genesis to stay or go from his tone.

He sighed dramatically. “The wandering soul knows no rest.”

Sephiroth’s expression was still blank.

Genesis eyed him. There was a long, hostile moment of silence.

“ _LOVELESS_ , Act one,” said Sephiroth, with a miniscule blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of smile.

“Good,” said Genesis, matching it with a curl of his own lips. And then he left without bothering to close the door behind him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, if there was something specific that you liked about this chapter, let me know in a comment. :)


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